


The Sparks in his Fingertips

by nerdqueenenterprise



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: BUT I CAN EXPLAIN!!! ok no i can't but i am sorry, M/M, everything is exactly as it seems, no funky business whatsoever, nothing to see here. please move on., or is it?????, this is a very normal coffee shop au, this is also hugh whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/nerdqueenenterprise
Summary: The only magic Paul Stamets has is that after just a few looks and smiles, Hugh has been bewitched.





	1. Chapter 1

Hugh is doing his very best walking like a normal human. 

There’s the most incredible pain ever surging up from his feet past his knees almost to his hips, his left arm is shaking - especially around his wrist, but also up near his shoulder - his mouth tastes of stale coffee and there’s no way he can drive with how difficult it is to keep his eyes open.

So instead of hitting the garage and hoping that his old car will start despite  it being freezing outside, he exits the elevator on the ground level and walks through the lobby. It’s sometime between one and four am, but there has to be a coffee shop that’s open where he can get some fucking caffeine..

For example right across the street.

Hugh wraps his jacket tighter around himself, shivers when the automatic doors open to let him outside, and despite his aching legs he quickens his step.

The sun isn’t yet up, but the street is still lit far more brightly than anything has a right to be  thanksto the pretty new age LED floodlights that illuminate the hospital’s entrance. Now, not to be a hypocrite, but Hugh would prefer it if they’d kept the old halogen ones and instead put the money towards the staff’s paychecks. The next time one of the nice people quits because they can’t afford working here anymore, Hugh is either going to be sad or be the next one quitting.

The coffee shop goes about this whole thing better. They don’t have top of the line LED lamps. As a matter of fact, they barely have any lights on. Thankfully.

Hugh states his order to the clerk and wraps himself around a hot cup not too long later.

 

 

 

 

    “Hi, one big black coffee, please.”

It’s late again, but this time Hugh is marginally more awake. Maybe because it’s even colder outside, and maybe also because he almost fell on his face trying to cross the icy road.

The clerk looks awake though, which is odd, because who would be awake at ass o’clock at night? But hey, each to their own, and as long as Hugh gets his coffee, he doesn’t care. That’s what being off shift means.

 

 

 

 

    “Hi, a black coffee please, the big one.”

The clerk has the skin tone of someone who sees even less sunlight than Hugh does. Makes sense, since they both seem to be on an eternal night shift.

Also to be fair, Hugh has the advantage of his Puerto Rican heritage.

 

 

 

 

    “Hi, a big black one, please.”

At least the clerk isn’t hard on Hugh’s strained, tired eyes. Not at all, really. And he doesn’t want to chat, which - thank god.

 

 

 

 

    “Hey, one coffee please. Black and as big as you can make it.”

That almost makes the clerk smile.

    “Sure.”

 

 

 

 

It’s only the end of fucking November and Hugh is going to die if it gets any colder. The few meters from the entrance of the hospital to the coffee shop already leave him shivering and soaked in the icy wet snow-rain that’s been pouring down ever since… since forever.

    “Hi, a big black coffee, please.”

    “That coffee is $2.75, and you have one every night. Suppose you wouldn’t, then you could afford a warmer jacket that’s also waterproof in a bit more than a month.”

It’s the longest sentence the clerk has ever said to Hugh, and now he’s properly grinning at him. 

Hugh pauses removing his nicely soaked jacket.

    “Is this because I’m dripping on your floor?”

    “No?”

    “If I don’t get my coffee, I’ll never be able to get that jacket because I’ll crash my car on the way home.”

    “You drive on streets like that? Wow. Why don’t you just immediately go to the ER?”

The clerk punches the sale into the till, and Hugh hands his five dollars over.

    “It’s cheaper than the bus. And I get to sleep in my own bed.” Which is admittedly a lot colder than the ER because the heater is busted and the window is drafty and the walls are made from cardboard, but Walmart has a double pack of fleece blankets for $4 and Hugh is going to head there anyways.

He accepts his coffee and the change, sits in his usual spot and stares into the mug while the clerk does what he always does; reads a book and takes notes. Sometimes Hugh wonders whether he should strike up a conversation, make a friend in this new city. They seem to both be in their late twenties, and Hugh does enjoy reading too, so maybe they’d have something in common.

Or he could continue to stare into his mug.

 

 

 

 

    “Hi, one -”

    “- big black coffee?” The clerk grins at him.

    “Yeah, thank you.”

 

 

 

 

December 12th and the cold and the water in various states falling from the sky has let up a little. Instead, the world is grey slush that likes seeping into Hugh’s shoes especially, the coffee shop’s black coffee still tastes as detestable as coffee always does, but it warms his fingers and makes it easier to open his eyes.

It’s still the same clerk too. He’s almost always around, so he probably also works a six day week like Hugh does, and the other times, when he must have a day off, the clerks are different each time.

Hugh doesn’t really care. As long as the coffee wakes him up and the clerk leaves him be, it’s all good.

Especially today.

Of course, the one day you’d rather die than have someone talk to you, that’s when they talk to you.

    “Hey.” The clerk shows up at Hugh’s table, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Um, I have, um, a friend of mine - it… doesn’t really matter, actually, but um, I just need to leave for a bit, and, um, I don’t want to kick you out because you look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown already, but I need to leave for a second. The till is locked and the place is under surveillance, but, uh, I don’t mean that like you’ll probably steal something, it’s just -”

    “I get it,” Hugh interrupts him. Wow, the one day he has a killer headache, and people dare talk to him.

    “Cool, thanks!”

The clerk leaves and Hugh lets his head drop and his eyes close.

_Smack!_

    “Pain meds against the headache and some water to wash them down. It’s on the house.”

And then he leaves again and the door slams and Hugh groans and lies down on the table. Gently, because his head is aching. He takes a peek at the meds he was given, but they’re standard stuff, of course. Acetylsalicylic acid. Bad.

He must’ve fallen asleep, too, because the next thing he hears is a chair scraping over the floor and someone sitting down.

    “You know, you should really take something against that headache.”

Fuck.

    “No.” Hugh pushes himself up into a sitting position again, rubbing at his temples. “I can’t.”

    “Allergic?”

    “No, there’s acetylsalicyclic acid in those.”

The clerk takes the tablet blister and squints quizzically at it. His hair is sticking up a little, Hugh notes. How fucking long has he been asleep?

    “I thought that’s supposed to be in them.”

    “Yeah, sure, but I’m donating blood tomorrow. Today. It’s already past midnight, isn’t it?”

    “Yeah, it is. But what does that have to do with -?”

    “You can’t donate blood if you’ve taken something with ASA in the past… uh, god, four weeks, I think?”

    “Why not?”

    “ASA fucks your blood platelets, basically. And usually the people who need blood transfusions also need unfucked blood basically. So.”

    “Right. Sorry for bothering you.”

    “Sorry for falling asleep in your shop.”

The clerk shrugs. “It’s not mine, so who cares.”

Hugh rubs his eyes again. He feels sluggish from lack of sleep and working too much and overdoing it at the gym and loneliness and uhhhhh.

    “I should head home.”

    “Drive carefully!”

 

 

 

 

    “I’m Paul, by the way.” He pushes the mug over the counter.

    “I’m off shift so that’s not my problem,” Hugh says, manages to take it and sit down in his spot before keeling over from tiredness.

 

 

 

 

Paul isn’t working the next night, and that’s when it catches up to Hugh that he was a bit of an ass the last night, to put it mildly.

So he fucked that up. Amazing.

 

 

 

 

    “Sorry, I’m Hugh.”

    “Coffee, black?”

    “Yeah, yeah, please, um, but, sorry. I should’ve, um, not been such a dick.”

    “Dude, you were so tired you could barely walk. It’s fine.”

    “Still pretty rude.”

    “Water under the bridge. Do you want Christmas fudge?”

    “Um.” Truth be told, Hugh probably can’t afford Christmas fudge because that’s what happens when you finally buy waterproof shoes for winter. “I’m good, thanks.”

 

 

 

 

It’s three days until Christmas when Hugh hears he’ll probably be on the graveyard shift over the holidays. Which he always is, and he hadn’t really expected to be free over Christmas, but the next day he’ll have off will be in the next year. And even though he hadn’t planned on celebrating Christmas or the new year at all, because he would’ve been alone anyways, but hey, he would’ve liked to have a day off, maybe catch some of the fireworks, treat himself to a bottle of wine and some daytime TV.

At least he finally managed to wrangle an appointment with a therapist into his schedule to get his prescription renewed, so he really shouldn’t stay at the coffee shop for too long so he can actually get some sleep in before that appointment.

Paul is very taciturn and wrapped up in his book, so Hugh drinks his coffee and stares out into the snow outside.

The best thing about going to the coffee shop after his shift is that it’s always really nicely warm and he can sit down and relax there. The hospital is warm too, but it’s not a place for relaxation. Especially not now that they had two more people from Hugh’s team quit, and since the superintendent doctor will probably never do a single hour more than he has to, it’s up to everyone else to pick up the slack. Plus the hours that have to be filled are then usually filled by the youngest member of the team so that they can ’get experience’. And that’s why Hugh’s hours now look the way they do.

Wonderful.

He gets ready to leave a bit later than he usually does, quietly hoping that Paul will maybe start talking to him, ask what he’s doing over Christmas, because now that he listened to a lot of people he works with detailing that they’re already doing this or that over the holidays (meeting friends and seeing family and so on), Hugh feels a bit too abruptly reminded that everyone he’s close to is too far away for anything more than a phonecall. Sure, he’ll call his family and tell his mom that he’s doing great and she shouldn’t worry, and she and his dads probably already sent a package with cookies and a little gift on its way, but they’ll have Christmas dinner and all the festivities on their own and Hugh is going to go to work and go to the gym and have a hot shower and watch TV and pretend that it’s fine that he won’t go to see anyone. 

Okay, so hoping Paul will talk to him is all Hugh being lonely. Paul really is the closest person to a friend Hugh has, and considering how he’s a barista in a 24-hour coffee shop that Hugh has been visiting in lieu of any other place and they had a grand total of maybe four conversations that weren’t Hugh stating his order.

Paul keeps his nose in his book, and around four AM Hugh can’t sit around anymore.

He brings the mug back to Paul, which gets him a short raise of Paul’s head but nothing more.

    “Hey, um.” Hugh fiddles with his sleeve. “Are you, um, going to be around for Christmas, or are you, um, I don’t know, doing something?”

    “Visiting my family.” Paul looks up properly this time.

    “That’s nice,” Hugh forces out.

    “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I see them a lot, but I… it’s always a little more special around a holiday, you know? Um. You?”

Hugh has his full attention now, which is kind of nice.

    “Uh, no, I’m, my folks live in Puerto Rico, and also I’m working.”

    “On Christmas? Where the fuck do you work in that hospital that they won’t let you have a day off?” There’s a cute smile playing around his mouth.

    “Um, I’m a doctor.”

    “Ouhh, fancy! So, what, you have to be there in case someone stabs a relative over dinner?”

    “Something like that. But, um, yeah, merry Christmas, then, I guess. Are you staying until the new year?”

     “Yeah! Yeah, I’m, you know, going to bask in the whole family thing and not having to cook.”

Hugh laughs. “I get it. I miss being cooked for too.”

    “Being an adult sucks. Even though at least I don’t have to stick to a sleeping schedule anymore. I text my mom at insane times sometimes just to tell her she can’t tell me what to do anymore. She thinks it’s funny, so…” Paul clears his throat. “Well. Um. Anyways. Yeah, I’m going to be gone until the new year. The place will still be open though, so you can still get your fix. So… happy holidays to you! I hope you’ll get to celebrate a little.”

    “You too!” Hugh wishes, and then he makes his way out into the cold again.

 

 

 

 

Truth be told, he misses Paul in the coming two weeks. There are a few other clerks in the shop, but Hugh doesn’t do anything but drink coffee there. He calls home on Christmas, says hi to everyone, spends his graveyard shift pulling a chandelier’s splinters out of a little kid, then comes home and stares at the wall for a bit. Even the gym is closed. The cinemas are closed. Theatres, too. Zoos - well, who would go to a zoo when it’s freezing outside?

Really, The Sims did not prepare him for how difficult it is to meet new people when you’re an adult. 

Also he needs to stop thinking about Paul.

 

 

 

 

So instead he hooks up with the cute nurse from station 7B. It’s a couple days after Christmas, and the guy lives in a really nice apartment, Hugh ends up staying the night, they have brunch the morning after and promise loosely to meet up again sometime, and that’s that.

Also the nurse apparently had his last day of work that day, because Hugh never sees him again and only hears that apparently he was laid off. So that’s great for making some contacts.

Okay, fine, maybe he shouldn’t have slept with the guy either. That’s not exactly how you make friends.

On the other hand, Hugh’s apartment is still drafty, and the nurse’s apartment wasn’t, so for one day that was nice.

Seriously, his landlord is probably going to kick him out if he keeps insisting for him to fix it, but the lease clearly says that it’s the landlord’s task, and Hugh is sick of freezing his ass off and having to cough up for the heating bill.

Technically it would also be the landlord’s task to fix the washer, which Hugh also pays for; to fix the one really broken stair; cut the bushes that make getting to the front door practically impossible with how much they’ve grown, and so forth.

Honestly, Hugh should probably just move, but he has yet to find an apartment close to what he can afford.

 

 

 

 

Seeing Paul’s sweet little smile when he sees him again on the third of January feels like a little vacation on its own.

    “Hugh! Hi! How are you?” He beams.

    “Oh, wow. Someone is awake.” Hugh can’t help but smile back though. “Vacation seems to have come with some perks.”

    “Oh, yeah, I feel like I stocked up on sleep for the next few months. And I think all the aunts and uncles and… other people I think I’m related to are now completely updated on what I do and whether I’m dating, and that yeah, I’m still queer, I still sometimes eat cake for breakfast, yes I can do my own taxes, yes I did get taller since last year - not really, um, you know, all that stuff. Yikes. But I mean, some of them are alright, so it wasn’t too bad. Sorry, I talk too much. Um. Did you have a good time? I mean, I know you had to work, but, uh.”

God, Paul is adorable when he rambles, and that cute little headshake he made in the end… so cute.

    “It was fine. Bit boring, without seeing you every day.” Wow, he shouldn’t have said that.

Paul’s eyes go wide and his jaw slackens slightly.

    “Really?”

    “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

    “No! No, it’s, um, it’s nice of you!”

They both stare at the counter to avoid each other’s eyes.

    “I mean,” Paul starts again, sounding unsure. “It’s not like I started the whole oversharing thing. So, um, don’t worry.”

    “Right.” Hugh tries to keep his exhale quiet so Paul doesn’t necessarily notice just how shaky it is. “In that case… yeah, I missed, um, seeing you at hell o’clock every night. Not that we talk much, but, um, I’m, I, I’m usually very exhausted, but I enjoy your presence.”

There. That sounded normal. Right?

Paul grins, bites his lip, looks down almost shyly. 

    “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too.”

    “I’m sorry your family isn’t understanding of your sexuality.”

Paul shakes his head.

    “Nah, they’re - the ones I’m close to are fine, and the other ones I only see over the holidays, and only on occasion, and… well, most of them give me money anyways, so that’s fine. They’re not… not really homophobic, just doing the whole ’but it would’ve been nice to see you have kids’ thing. I mean I’m queer, so I might find a woman, or I could always adopt, and just… aagh, I don’t know but I also don’t care. Worrying about them isn’t worth my time. Wow, okay, I’ve been rambling. Again. You probably just want your coffee and not my life story. Um. The usual?”

 

 

 

 

Hugh takes the usual and they spend quite some time getting to know each other better. He feels warmer on the inside when he finally heads home, even though the new year has done nothing but greet them with dry, icy winds that get through every crack and every slit.

But Paul missed him. That feels really good.

 

 

 

 

Of course it’s a little bit stupid to be wary of a Friday the 13th. Especially if you’re an adult and nothing magical has ever happened because magic doesn’t exist outside of childrens’ books and coincidences are just coincidences.

But Hugh still wakes up with a bad feeling on that Friday. His abuela would smack him gently and tell him off for not trusting his gut, but he steadily pushes that feeling aside while he showers and eats breakfast.

There’s the stray black cat that has been visiting him on occasion on his windowsill again, and he shares his last bit of milk with it, making a mental note to definitely go shopping after work.

The cat doesn’t leave after getting the milk, which is unusual, and again, Hugh really isn’t superstitious, but something about today sits badly with him.

As it should, because just as he finished putting on his shoes to go to work, his landlord knocks. Hugh has to steel himself for a few seconds before actually opening that door, because his landlord is a dragon, and considering how many fights Hugh picked with him about the upkeep of the house and specifically his own apartment.

    “Mr Culber, good evening. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

Yeah, he did.

    “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel your lease. Immediately.”

Dizziness rushes through Hugh, like he’s been hit with a sledgehammer.

    “What?” he manages.

    “Yes, I’m afraid it won’t be possible for you to stay any longer. Oh, and there are people moving in tomorrow, so it would be best if you could pack and move out right now.”

    “But - but - where am I supposed to go? I - you can’t -” Hugh can distantly feel himself sweating, but it’s hard to feel anything over the terrified vibration in his chest.

The landlord gives him another one of his fake smiles, starts to say something, then his phone rings and he turns away to answer it, and before Hugh can say anything else, the man is down the corridor and gone and Hugh finally starts to physically shake.

The door falls close and Hugh sits down against the wall and waits for the shock to hit him.

It doesn’t come. He’s calm. He’s practically empty on the inside. 

Okay. So he does not have a place to stay anymore. That means he will have to pack his things. And then he will have to put the things into the car. And then he will have to go to work. And then he will have to find a motel to stay in. And then he will have to find a new place to live.

Okay. So he is going to pack now.

And he does.

It’s not much. Good thing he got a kindle instead of books. Good thing he doesn’t own many clothes.

The boxes fit into the car. He leaves the apartment keys on the doormat. He turns away and doesn’t look back.

 

 

 

 

He drives to work. It’s a Nissan Juke that slams sideways into his hood. He always found that car ugly, and it doesn’t look any better with the nose dented. Or maybe it does.

The driver apologizes. Says it’s his fault. It is. The police considers the thing settled.

Hugh’s car gets towed, and he accompanies the mechanic to the yard. The bill for fixing his car will nuke his emergency savings. 

He lets the mechanic give him a ride to the train station, where he can put his boxes into a locker and where he gets a ticket to work.

He’s already two hours late.

 

 

 

 

He goes through his explanation and apologies, the boss nods, then tells him he’ll be laid off. Effective immediately.

And then Hugh goes on shift. Going through the motions. It’s all he has left.

 

 

 

 

Going through the motions also means he ends up at Paul’s coffee shop after his shift. He’s distantly aware that his phone is dead and he needs to charge it to call his mom, because he has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with any of this, and he only has fifty dollars to his name, probably less, and no place to go. He probably shouldn’t be getting a coffee now.

    “Hi, Hugh!”

Paul’s bright voice is the first thing that comes through the fog that has been there all day.

    “Hi. Do you, um, have a charger I could borrow?”

Paul frowns at him.

    “Sure, I mean… yeah? But… are you okay?”

    “I - need to call my mom, my phone is dead, I don’t know, um.”

    “It’s for a Samsung Galaxy,” Paul says, having plucked the charger from somewhere underneath the counter. “If that helps?”

    “Fuck. No, I have a… a different one.”

Paul drops the charger. 

    “Okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re going to sit over there, I’ll make you a hot drink, and you’re going to tell me what’s up. Okay?”

     “No… look, Paul, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I can’t - I can’t even afford to get a drink, and -”

    “It’s on the house. Don’t worry, just go sit down.”

 

 

 

 

Paul slides a big mug of something that smells of chocolate and cinnamon in front of Hugh not much later, and it’s followed up by a plate of what looks like fudge. Then he sits down opposite him.

    “Drink.”

Hugh takes a sip. It’s good.

    “Eat the fudge.”

Hugh also eats a piece of the fudge, which tastes amazing.

    “And now talk.”

    “You know I can’t afford any of this?”

    “Like I said, it’s on the house. Hugh, you look like you saw a whole litter of kittens be trampled to death, so… don’t worry about that.”

That sounds accurate.

    “I… I lost everything. I’ve got maybe fifty dollars, I need to - I have - the car’s going to cost at least two hundred more, I need a place to stay, I’ve got no savings… My parents won’t be able to help me. I just, I don’t know what to do.”

    “What happened?” Paul asks softly.

Hugh takes another sip of his drink and stares into the foam.

    “Well, I -  my landlord kicked me out, without notice. I packed my stuff and figured I’d go to work and then, I don’t know, get a motel afterwards and think on what to do. Um. On the way to work I was in a car crash. I’m fine, the other driver is fine, but my car isn’t, and I don’t have insurance on it, so, well, all my emergency savings went into that. And… they can’t let me keep my stuff in the car while it’s getting fixed, so they gave me a lift to the train station, I put my stuff in some lockers there, and took the train to work.” He takes another sip. The drink warms him from the inside, wakes him up from his stupor. “I was two hours late. And… then they told me I’d be laid off. Immediately. Like, today was my last shift. And… I don’t - I can’t remember what they said, why I wouldn’t get the rest of my pay, but… I won’t, and so I can’t, like, I couldn’t even afford a lawyer, because I have a two weeks’ notice on my - had a two weeks’ notice on my apartment, and I don’t think he can kick me out just like that, and I don’t think work can lay me off just like that, but I have - how could I possibly take them to court when I don’t know how to make it through next week? My sisters are at college, they depend on me to send them money for food, at the least, because I know my parents can’t send them any more than they already do, for books and stuff, and they can’t help out me too, and I - I have nowhere to go, Paul. I don’t know what to do, I can’t even, I don’t even have a place to sleep.”

    “Okay.” Paul’s voice is still soft. “First things first, you need a place to sleep. Then - do you have enough credit that you could take out a loan?”

    “Probably not, to be honest.”

    “Okay. I mean, you should still try, but let’s leave that for later. Maybe - yeah, maybe you just need to sleep first.”

    “Well - where?! Paul, I - I don’t have any friends, I know absolutely nobody in this city -”

    “Hold on a second there. You know me. And, um, I consider you my friend.”

Paul blushes when Hugh lifts his head to stare at him.

    “And… I, I don’t want it to look like, uh, I’m taking advantage of your situation or anything, but I have a guest bedroom, and it’s yours if you want to.”

    “You - wait, you have a guest bedroom? Paul, you do the graveyard shift at a dingy coffee shop. What else do you have, a deck looking out on a manicured lawn with rose bushes?”

    “It’s not manicured. I don’t… I don’t like mowing. Look. I didn’t buy the house. I - this guy, it’s a super long story, and way too complicated, but this guy owed my mom a fuckton of money, and she, she’s this kind of, you know, hippie, I guess, and… all organic and hand grown and lives in a cottage out in bumfuck nowhere, and she didn’t want the money, she wanted something… I don’t know, something useful, and then he had the idea to give her that house, and she was kind of pissed because she didn’t want a house either; she didn’t even really want the money back, but at the same time she also didn’t want to let him keep it, and I just finished uni, and… yeah…”

    “You have a house.”

    “It’s very pretty, and it’s got an empty guest bedroom.” Paul gives him a slight smile. “I mean. Um. It’s not empty, there’s a bed and all that of course, but… there’s nothing in it. Nobody. Sorry. No, um, no humans or… anything.”

    “And you’re offering to let me stay?”

    “For however long you need to, yeah. Um, look, Hugh, I’ve, I’m, I really enjoy having you around, and I just, I don’t know, I just want to help you, because you’re in a really tight spot, and it’s not fair of the world, and I - the world needs to be made a kinder place, and I’m just - I just want to help you out. Sorry, I know I talk way too much.”

    “You’d honestly let me stay?”

    “Provided you’re not deathly allergic to cats.”

    “You have a cat?”

    “Yeah. And, um, also a snake, but I promise she’s friendly, and she’s not, she doesn’t attack or anything. I also have a batch of fresh brownies that I made yesterday.”

Hugh holds on to his mug because the world is flipping under his feet.

    “Paul, I - I don’t know what to say. Thank you. So much. This is - I - Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

They make their way to Paul’s car later, after he finished locking up (and made Hugh eat more fudge). It’s an old Mercedes, with the paint scraped and the hubcaps gone, and Paul has to take three plants, one old newspaper, a ziplock baggie full of colorful stones, five cans of cat food and a whole ten piece pack of chocolate bars off the passenger seat.

Hugh can’t help but grin, because Paul is just so messy, and it’s adorable, and the way he blushes and ducks his head when he meets Hugh’s eyes and apologizes is adorable too.

    “So… plants?” he asks after sitting down.

Paul laughs and starts the car. It purrs like no car Hugh has ever heard, almost like there’s a happy big cat in its belly.

    “Yeah, I, see, when I said my mom’s a bit of a hippie… well, I think it may have been hereditary. I like living close to a city, but I also like having a garden and getting to grow plants, make my own tea, my own bread sometimes, lots of baking and cooking with natural ingredients.”

    “So you’re a herbal witch,” Hugh tries to joke.

Paul brakes at the red light and grins at him.

    “What gave it away? Hey, do you want to drive by the train station and get your stuff so you don’t lose it?”

    “Paul, I think if you keep being this nice, I’m going to have to marry you.”

    “Well, you’re not that hard on the eyes, and I’m into men, so… sure!”

 

 

 

 

The conversation turns to some very light hearted banter while they get Hugh’s stuff and then drive over to Paul’s place. It’s quite a ways out of the inner city, and getting more and more suburban, but also not exactly the good kind of suburban.

It’s when they pass the first few derelict buildings that Hugh starts getting a bad feeling, and when Paul parks in front of a completely ruined house that Hugh is almost certain he’ll be murdered here.

Paul takes a moment to type out a text to someone, and even though Hugh can’t see most of it, it leaves him terrified.

 

_hi… just wondering… need… human body parts? … some. hmu_

 

Hugh is so fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

    “Is it okay if we leave your stuff in the car at first? I think I might need to clear some space first,” Paul asks.

    “Sure.” Hugh hopes he doesn’t seem as nervous as he is.

They walk up to the front door, which is almost in two pieces with the window smashed in. Paul pushes it open to reveal a dank corridor with a rotten odor to it. There’s a massive puddle that looks a bit too dark and a bit too oily than Hugh likes puddles to look. 

Something skitters around in the dark.

There’s only a single door, made from a warm, polished wood with golden hinges, and it couldn’t look more out of place.

Paul opens that door too.

They’re met with a bloodcurdling scream.

Warm, golden light spills out of the door into the corridor as the door opens. Hugh catches a glimpse of a fireplace with comfortable chairs in front of it, a thick, warm carpet, shelves filled with plants and books and little knickknacks.

The scream comes again, closer this time, and a small black cat hops over one of the chairs and claws its way up Paul’s legs.

Paul laughs and hoists the cat up into his arms, where it squirms and keeps screaming.

    “This is Void, a cat that suffers horribly because I never ever feed her, and she reminds me of that every time I come home.”

    “Right.” Hugh exhales heavily. Whatever the fuck this place is, maybe Paul isn’t actually going to murder him. The screaming was just a very tiny cat, there’s a warm fire going, and Paul’s living space actually looks nice… even though it’s inside a ruin.

    “Come in, make yourself at home, take off your shoes and go sit down while I feed this monster. Would you like tea? Something to eat? I’ve got a chilli that I was thinking of warming up, if you’re okay with meat?”

    “I, yeah, um, thank you?”

    “Cool! Just sit down, I’ll be back in a second!” Paul says and vanishes.

Hugh takes off his shoes and takes a moment to look around. With the front door closed and the fire properly heating him up. 

There’s a little line of hooks for jackets, and Hugh hangs his there, taking a moment to read the inscription burned into a wood panel above the hooks: may lady luck follow you wherever you go and Bless your path it says, and there’s a tiny horseshoe-shaped plant pot with clovers sitting on the panel. Cute.

The outward wall, with the fireplace, is hidden behind bookshelves stacked to the max. Hugh doesn’t recognize any book, but there are a lot about plants, some about space and planets and others on topics Hugh doesn’t even know.

The fireplace has a cauldron sitting beside it, and a hook to hang it from inside the fireplace. The cauldron sits next to a little holder for various fireplace instruments, and there’s a cat toy there too.

The wall on the other side is just as packed with books, and a few plants.

The next area is cut off by a curtain from wooden beads, and Hugh certainly isn’t going to go snooping, so he finally sits down in one of the chairs, facing the fire.

It feels good to get off his feet, and the whole wall of shelved plants behind him exudes a calm, living energy. Whatever terror Hugh felt earlier is inconsequential now, considering how good this place feels. A bit like his abuela’s place, really, what with the plants and books and comfy chairs.

Paul shows up again from seemingly amidst the plants, carrying two trays.

    “So, here’s some chilli, with homemade bread - told you I was into that stuff - and camomile tea with cinnamon and honey and a hint of ginger, to make you feel better.”

He sets one tray down in Hugh’s lap and goes to sit on the neighboring chair with his.

    “Is the honey from your own bees?”

Paul blinks and smiles.

    “What if it is? But - no, my bees have been dealing with a parasite, so this is from one of my mom’s hives. It’s lavender honey. Not the best fit for this tea, but I don’t think you’ll taste the difference much, and maybe it’ll help you sleep later.”

    “Thank you,” Hugh says again, trying to put as much sincerity into his voice as he can.

Paul shrugs.

    “Don’t worry about it. At all. Also if Void ever demands belly scritches from you, please give them to her because otherwise she gets crabby. Eat.”

The chilli is amazing, and the bread is fluffy, and Void does come up to sniff his toes. Hugh gets a little more drowsy with every sip of his tea.

Paul shows him the bathroom, asks him not to mind the weird sounds from the bathtub, they’re because the piping is old, shows him the bedroom that’s panelled in a dark wood with a big, comfortable bed in the middle, and Hugh gets ready and lies down and then he’s out like a light.

 

 

 

 

His phone is still without power when he wakes up, but there’s some sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains in front of the window.

Hugh curls himself into the blanket for a bit longer. It’s so nice to feel really warm and toasty upon waking up, and the blankets and pillows are entirely too fluffy and comfortable to be legal.

Now that he’s awake, he notices a few more things about the room he didn’t notice before. A small, unlit fireplace towards the foot end of the bed; a very pretty bouquet of dried flowers and a small angel statue among flowers on the mantlepiece.

The wall on the door side is plain except for a garland of dried sunflowers, and the door frame is encrusted with sea shells. Kind of weird, but the thought of Paul sitting there with his tongue stuck out slightly, glueing sea shells to the doorframe, that’s very cute and endearing.

He pushes himself up eventually, deciding to hit the shower and brush his teeth before… well, fuck. He’s assuming Paul will feed him breakfast. And maybe he will, or maybe he won’t, but Hugh definitely shouldn’t just assume.

The bathroom is pretty much across from his room; it’s the guest bathroom, apparently, and then Paul’s bedroom is probably at the end of the short corridor, up the spiral staircase.

The corridor is absolutely plastered with pictures, some which must be family pictures, some which seem like home laser printer printouts of plants, some actual high end photography; and in between the pictures are bundles of dried herbs, little strings of sea shells and rocks and crystals, crooked pieces of what might be driftwood, and it all forms a very interesting collage that just bursts with life. It’s weird, but kind of very pretty.

The bathroom is tiled in blue mosaic, with a clawfoot bathtub at the far wall. The curtain is drawn, but something is indeed making noises in it.

Hugh decides not to pay it too much mind. Paul did say something about the pipes being weird.

Instead he examines himself in the slightly milky mirror. There must be a light inlet somewhere, because the crystals (white and light blue) that frame the mirror seem to be emitting a very soft glow that, in all fairness, makes him look absolutely amazing.

So he showers, trims his beard, admires himself in the mirror and washes his hands. Weird that the pipes to the toilet, the shower and the sink don’t seem to be experiencing the same oddness that the ones for the bathtub have, because they’re working just fine.

He closes the door behind him quietly, just in case Paul is still sleeping. 

In that exact moment, Paul hops down the last step from the spiral staircase, wearing a sunny smile and with his hair sticking up like he just fell out of bed.

    “Good morning! I hope you slept well?”

    “I did, thank you.”

    “Good. Now, I was thinking, it might already be somewhat around a lunch-y time, but maybe we can still eat breakfast. I was thinking pancakes? If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

    “Paul, I -”

    “Is that a ’yes, I’d like pancakes’ or a ’no, I’d like something else’? Because those are the only acceptable answers.”

    “You don’t have to feed me,” Hugh tries.

Paul waves his hand and shakes his head. 

    “Yes or no, Hugh. I’m genetically predetermined to feed everyone who shows up around mealtimes, and trust me, nothing would make me happier.”

   “Okay, fine.” Hugh sighs. “Yes, I’d love pancakes, thank you. I’m going to repay you eventually.”

    “Oh, don’t you dare. It’s my pleasure, Hugh, seriously. Come on, let me show you the kitchen.”

 

 

 

 

The kitchen is hidden behind the plant shelves in the living room, and it’s - not what Hugh expected. It’s basically straight out of a suburban soccer mom’s house - big and light and modern and with an island. There’s a dining table slightly to the right, and further to the right another room seems to open. The whole area is panelled with floor to ceiling windows that look out onto a pretty deck and a beautiful wild garden.

    “I like keeping the living room very cozy and… you know, kind of medieval looking, but I like this part to be very, you know, open and light. Um. Right, breakfast. Are you - I mean you always ordered coffee, so are you a morning coffee drinker?”

Hugh laughs and ducks his head.

    “Um, no. Not at all. I hate coffee. I just - needed something to keep me awake for the drive home, and to warm me up. Coffee sucks, if I’m being very honest.”

    “Oh, finally you say something sensible! Man, I was terrified you’d be an actual coffee connoisseur! And, I don’t know, you go to coffee tastings every weekend. Let me tell you, that would’ve been a serious dampener on our relationship. What do you prefer to drink?” Paul bites his lip, looking at Hugh expectantly.

Strangely enough, even though all Hugh does is basically ask for a drink, as per basically every interaction they ever had, it feels wildly different. There’s a little undercurrent between them, and hopefully Hugh isn’t the only one who picks up on it.

    “I don’t know. What do you have?”

Paul bounces over to the kitchen cupboards, opens one and peers inside.

    “I’ve got one - three… five, eight - ten, no, eleven different teas, hot chocolate, mmmh, more hot chocolate by the looks of it - dark, milk and I think there ought to be white in there somewhere as well, I made a ton of lemonades and ice teas just two days ago, um.” He turns to look at Hugh. “I also have a couple of wines, honeywine, mead, beer, spirits, probably every kind of juice… milk?”

    “Wow. Are you… perpetually planning for a party?”

    “What?” God, Paul’s smile is just so cute. “No, I just - you know, in case people come over, which they do quite a lot, so, you know. But! What can I get you?”

 

 

 

 

Hugh helps Paul stir the pancake batter while Paul practically bounces around the kitchen to fix up their drinks. It’s wildly different from how subdued and calm he always was at the coffee shop, but maybe that’s just to be expected. It would be a little hard to believe that he actually works the graveyard shift there because he enjoys it.

    “Hey, can I ask you something?” he asks just as Paul is finishing up on their drinks.

For a split second, Hugh sees him drip something in there from a small flask, and that terrified feeling from last night comes back, that he’s going to be murdered here and stripped for parts.

The flask vanishes in Paul’s sleeve and he turns around. Hugh swallows and blinks and tries not to think of how his heart is fluttering too much.

    “Sure.”

    “Um…” He needs a moment to compose himself, remind himself what he wanted to ask. “You said you went to university. What did you study?”

    “Oh! Um, chemistry and biology. Because it’s cool. Groovy.” 

He winks at Hugh and yeah, sure, he just spiked Hugh’s drink with what’s either poison or a date rape drug but wow, he’s cute.

    “But you work in a coffee shop.” Hugh flips the last pancake onto the plate and eyes Paul expectantly, like Paul will bust out a sword to stab him with.

Instead, Paul only lays the table.

    “Yeah, you know, not the best, um, it’s not easy to find a job there as long as I don’t want to move. I work part time in my buddy Straal’s sorta lab, and then I do the coffee shop, and I do some freelance stuff, and overall it pays the bills. I don’t - I don’t know what I want to do, really. Um. Like, maybe I’ll do the lab stuff full time eventually, but… I don’t know.”

He talks so much like a normal person, acts so much like a normal person, but then he lives inside a ruin in an area where everything is a ruin and run down, and he puts some kind of drug into Hugh’s drink.

 

 

 

 

They sit down and eat, making nice conversation, and every moment Hugh is horribly aware of his drink, which he doesn’t touch, and Paul’s nice facade. 

He’s a good looking guy, and he’s queer, and he’s available, and he’s also trying to drug Hugh.

    “What’s wrong?” Paul asks eventually, still ever-so-friendly. “Do you want something else to drink?”

    “You put something in there,” Hugh bursts out. “I saw you. Don’t - don’t deny it.”

Paul’s eyes widen.

    “I - look, Hugh, that’s not -”

    “Not a drug? Sure. Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but you put some drug into my drink, you live inside a ruined building in an area that looks like a zombie apocalypse happened here, and yesterday you texted someone about whether they need human body parts. But please, I’m sure there’s a perfectly natural explanation for all of this. I’m not going to touch that drink though.”

Paul groans and scrubs a hand over his face, through his hair.

Why do the good looking men have to be freaks? Why can’t this just not be a huge misunderstanding and they can have some cute little dates and a happy relationship after Paul explained it?

    “Okay. Um. Oh, fuck, I have no idea how to explain any of this, but… yeah, basically all of this is a big misunderstanding. Um… oh, fuck me. Okay. Let’s try this. Hi, my name is Paul Stamets, and I’m a witch. Witches and magic and non-human people are all real. I… this is a very nice area, you just can’t see it because, um, because you don’t have, you know, you’re human. My friend sort of - for some of his work he needs… human fingernails and hair and that stuff, and I know that - he would’ve - since that stuff is worth a lot, he would’ve paid you for it, and I just thought, you know. You’re strapped for cash and all that. Um. I put a potion to… to pick you up a little into your drink. I know it’s illegal to do that without your consent, but… I just… I wanted to make you feel better.” He exhales heavily. “And now you’re not going to believe me. I get it, don’t worry. It’s fine.”

    “So you’re some kind of homeopathy-let’s use herbs to get the evil autism away-wave some crystals against that cancer-kind of guy. Alright. Cool.”

    “No.” Paul’s squeezing his fingers together and it almost looks like he’s rocking himself slightly in his chair. “No, it’s not like that.  I knew you weren’t going to believe me, but -”

    “Oh, you knew that? Did your crystal ball tell you that?”

    “No! No, I just - it’s… of course you weren’t going to believe me. And… you don’t have to. The truth is - Hugh, I like you. In the, you know, in the gay way.”

    “Which is why you tried to drug me. You know, you’d get laid a lot more often if you didn’t do that and just picked people up the normal way.”

    “Ugh, okay. Here.” Paul snatches Hugh’s mug up and drinks several long gulps. “There. Now, obviously, since that drink was spiked with a drug, I’m going to keel over or be super drunk in a minute or something. Or maybe it’s not a drug. I said I liked you, Hugh, not that I want - I don’t even do one night stands. Unless you were offering, in which case - but - nevermind. Look, I’m not going to act on anything, and you can still stay here for however long you want or need, and I have no problems, um, making food for the both of us, and I promise I won’t do any magic on you or… anything.”

Well, that’s just peachy. Paul knows damn well Hugh has nowhere else to go. Literally. 

    “I promise I mean well, Hugh, I just don’t always - well, I’m not the social type and I know I give off the wrong vibes on occasion.”

     “Yeah, by slipping something into my drink, for example. Or by offering my toenails to your friend.”

Paul flushes a pretty tomato red.

    “You weren’t supposed to see that. He was just supposed to show up and talk about it and then ask you or something, I don’t know. Um. I know it’s… one hell of a fucking stretch to ask that, but… I - like I said, I really like you and I just want to help you out and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as you want me to be, but can we, um, forgive and forget and try again?”

When he sees Hugh’s look, he winces.

    “Yeah, I know you still think I drugged you. I’m, I’m very sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

At least he’s cute, Hugh’s brain suggests. Better to get murdered by a cute guy than by someone who’s ugly.

    “Okay,” he says, surprising both him and Paul. “Okay. You… won’t do that again then.”

    “No. I promise,” Paul says sincerely.

Fuck, but he’s so cute with his eyes open wide and blue and his pink lips and those cheekbones and a slightly stubbly jawline.

    “And if you murder me, you promise you’ll apologize to my mom.”

That makes Paul chuckle.

    “Okay.”

    “But I’m also not going to go out with you. Like… ever.”

    “That’s… fair. Sad but fair.”

    “And I’m only going to sell my, um, ’body parts’, as you so charmingly call them, as a very last resort. Jesus.”

    “Also fair.”

 

 

 

 

Hugh doesn’t lie to himself. He is anxious around Paul now, even though Paul is definitely… more reserved, more polite instead of friendly. Hugh almost feels bad about it, and sometimes he does feel bad, but… Paul tried to drug him and then sell him a story about being a witch, so caution is advised.

He does give Hugh a lift to the library though, so Hugh spends the afternoon and early evening polishing up his CV, scanning in references again and also finally charging his phone and shooting his mom a quick text. He’s going to call her tonight, explain the situation and make up some reason as to why she doesn’t have to worry, because she does that enough already. 

It’s more than a little intimidating to just decide to hell with it and send Massachusetts General his CV and application, especially considering the openings they luckily have are a bit different from what Hugh is qualified for, but worst case scenario is getting rejected, and that’s the same as not applying in the first place. Plus it would be amazing to build his resume in a place like that.

Paul picks him up again, and they have really nice dinner back at Paul’s place. The area is still scary, but something about how Void curls herself around his legs makes it feel homely.

He retires early, not wanting to be in the house itself too much, especially not with Paul having excused himself to do some work in his study. And then he calls his mom, reassures her; calls his sisters that he won’t be able to send them money this month.

He can’t do much more than that. They’ll have to make do, unfortunately. Maybe their parents can spare some money this month, and for however long else Hugh won’t be able to provide for them.

 

 

 

 

He told himself he wouldn’t actually check what’s in the bathtub, because it’s Paul’s house and he doesn’t want to snoop.

Whatever it is, it looks like motor oil, black and shimmery and, well, oily, but it almost looks like something is moving under the surface.

Hugh backs out pretty quickly.

 

 

 

 

On the second day of his stay, there’s a cloaked person in the living room just as Hugh goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Paul is there too, and even though Hugh can’t understand the language the other person is speaking, Paul clearly can; and even though they aren’t exactly being loud, they’re clearly fighting. 

Hugh can’t see much from behind the beaded curtain, and he knows he shouldn’t snoop, but suddenly the other person lunges for Paul and grips him by the neck; there’s a flash of light and Paul falls against the wall next to the fireplace, making some of the plants topple over and fall.

Hugh decides he has seen enough and vanishes into the bathroom, shaking only slightly.

Whatever the fuck is going on here, he needs to get out.

 

 

 

 

Paul never mentioned that the fucking snake was free roaming and hanging out around the plant shelves.

 

 

 

 

Sunday evening marks the third day of Hugh’s stay and incidentally also the day Hugh finds Paul’s garden shed.

Paul is gone, having to work at the coffee shop, and he gave Hugh more or less free roam of the place, and Hugh decides to check out the garden because it’s very pretty and there won’t be anything weird there.

The gardening shed’s door is ajar, and Hugh is way too curious for his own good, and he just wants a peek -

Okay, no, he wants to get the fuck out of here and never have to hear the name Paul Stamets ever again, because the guy is a very special brand of sicko, because the second he’s out of here he’ll call the cops on him. 

Sure, the real freaks are always the ones that were always sweet to their neighbors and helped old ladies to cross the street, but they’ll keep teeth and eyes and bones in mason jars in their garden shed next to the essential oils.

 

 

 

 

The hospital calls him on Monday, they arrange a talk in person on Tuesday, he comes in to sign his work contract a few hours afterwards, and he’s able to apply and immediately get accepted into in-house housing, which is reserved for staff and which costs a lot less than his previous apartment, his car gets fixed and the bill ends up being already covered by what he paid, so he’s getting money back plus some obscure clause in the contract means that his health insurance also owes him money, which they’ll send him without being prompted, and by the time all his stuff is in his cute new apartment it’s eight pm.

He orders celebratory pizza and then sits down against a wall to cry in relief.

 

 

 

 

Sometime around midnight - yes, he’s still awake - after he’s left his mom and sisters voicemails that were partly him sobbing and partly him actually telling them what’s going on, and after he put away all his stuff and checked his finances and organized what he’d need to buy and properly appreciated his little apartment (a bedroom, a living-dining-kitchen room, a bathroom and a small storage closet), he finally sits himself down and thinks about what the fuck just happened.

There has to be some sort of gigantic cosmic reason for why within two days, his life fell into place better than it has in years. He’s getting paid better once he’s integrated full time, he practically lives next to his work, his car is fixed, he’s got more money in his bank account now than he usually has at his disposal for a whole month, he’ll never have to see Paul Stamets’ face ever again.

It’s definitely too good to be true. If he were in a movie, this would be the plot device used to make him believe everything is fine, and a few weeks later it’s going to come bite him in the ass.

But… damn, he’s got a six month period of notice on his job! A month period of notice on his apartment! He pays less for this one than he did for the old one while also making a whole hundred dollars more per month. Maybe it is meant to be.

Also this apartment isn’t drafty, the laundry room a few floors down seems to be in good condition, and sure, he’s got no plates or cutlery, no toaster or water cooker, none of these things yet, and the living room could really need a carpet, and he’ll have to buy some succulents or curtains or pictures to make the place actually look lived in, and there’s food to buy, but… Lady Luck really must love him a whole lot.

Also there’s no mattress.

Hugh laughs a little when he realizes that, because how didn’t he see that before? There’s just the bare slatted frame sitting there.

Which is fine, really, because he can spend a night on the couch and then get a mattress tomorrow. That’s absolutely not a bother.

 

 

 

 

So life happens again. 

Hugh drops an anonymous tip to the police the next morning, spends a lot more money than he’s strictly comfortable with on housing items, switches his gym subscription to one that’s closer to work and his new apartment, and calls his mom again.

He starts work shortly after, and promptly meets one of his new colleagues at the gym, and she’d been looking for a workout buddy anyways, and she’s in a running group together with a few other people from work, and within two weeks Hugh has practically forgotten Paul Stamets with his gardening shed full of horror movie paraphernalia.

And of course that’s when said freak rings his doorbell like a grade a psychopathic stalker.


	3. Chapter 3

Or at least the eyes are the same. And the general face. But… overall, Hugh is pretty sure that the person in front of him is female, possibly cosplaying some kind of forest nymph, and definitely related to one Paul Stamets.

    “Um,” he says, already trying to close the door again. “Can I help you?”

    “Oh, I think you can. May I come in?”

    “Uhhh… I’m… actually rather busy right now…” he tries.

    “Sweetie, that’s a lie. You were watching Star Trek on Netflix, and you’re on your third episode today.”

Well… fair, but maybe he has a crush on the cute mycologist-slash-chief of engineering.

Wait.

    “How do you know that?”

She shrugs.

    “I know a lot of things. Let me in.”

    “I - I don’t think so. Ma’am, I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll have to call the police.”

    “Like you did on my son?”

Hugh falters for a moment.

    “I -”

    “Listen here, Hugh Culber.”

At the mention of his name he suddenly feels a little wonky.

    “Mirror mine, mirror mine, reflect his actions, words malign. Make him see what he has sewn. Open his eyes, and make it known. Make him sit. Make him pause. Make him feel the pain he’s caused. This is my spell. Direct it well,” she says, thrusts a little cloth bag into Hugh’s hands, and then she’s down the corridor.

Hugh isn’t entirely sure whether to laugh or to be freaked out, but he definitely closes the door and locks it before checking the bag.

There’s a mirror in there, and… nothing else. 

He doesn’t really know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

So… that was Stamets’ mother? Well, the apple definitely doesn’t fall from the tree. Yikes.

 

 

 

 

He throws the little bag with the mirror out the next time he takes the trash out, which is that evening, and then he doesn’t think of it anymore.

 

 

 

 

Two days later he comes back to his front door open and his apartment torn apart. Furniture is turned over, the cupboards are open and empty with their contents strewn over the floor, and someone is rummaging around in the bathroom.

Hugh has always considered himself at least averagely intelligent. So naturally he closes the front door and tip-toes to the bathroom.

Whoever it is is still tearing the place apart, muttering to - yeah, probably to himself. The voice sounds like a guy anyways.

    “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, where is it?” A cupboard is slammed. “It has to be a mirror, she wouldn’t use anything else.” The rummaging stops. “Oh, fuck, what if she did? Could be anything, fuck, ooohhh Gaia, give me guidance.”

Whoever it is starts to leave the bathroom, and Hugh slams him into the wall.

    “Fuck!”

It’s Stamets. Of course it’s fucking Stamets.

Pretty blue eyes glare at Hugh, then soften with recognition.

Hugh strengthens his grip. Stamets won’t stand a chance against him, that’s for sure.

    “I’d advise you to start talking. I going to call the cops anyways, but you better tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

Stamets’ arms suddenly come up and he tries to push Hugh away while simultaneously twisting, and maybe he’s a little bit stronger than Hugh anticipated, but Hugh is not going to let him get away.

A brief struggle later and Stamets’ back meets the wall again.

    “Talk,” Hugh repeats.

    “She put a curse on you. I - I didn’t mean to - I didn’t want her to! She misunderstood me and intervened and I need to stop her before it’s too late!”

Stamets struggles again, but Hugh has him in a pretty good lock.

    “Did she put a curse on me because she’s… you know, a ’witch’, like you are?”

    “No, she’s fae. Please, Hugh -”

    “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

    “Look. Please let me explain. This… this whole thing has been a very big misunderstanding. I don’t blame you, of course, but -”

    “Good. Because I’m not the guy who has mason jars filled with frog eyes and lizard scales and pickled rooster hearts in my fucking gardening shed!!”

Stamets winces.

    “I have no idea what kind of disgusting, creepy game you and your freaky ass mother are playing, but I’m going to report you, and her, for being some kind of sick animal abusers, for stalking and harassing me, and for breaking into my apartment and wrecking shit.”

Stamets hangs his head.

    “I’m so sorry we got on the wrong - I mean - I just - Hugh, please let me explain.”

    “Which part? The one where you can do magic because you went to, let me guess, Hogwarts?”

    “What?” Fuck, as perverted as the guy is, he’s still way too cute, especially when he looks this confused. “I… don’t know what that is. I went to Worcester college and I got my Master of Potionry there.”

    “Of course you did.”

    “So you believe me?”

    “Absolutely not!”

    “But I am a witch! How do I - fuck. Okay. I - okay. What color is your shirt?”

Hugh looks down reflexively.

    “What? Why?”

    “What color is it?”

    “It’s a polo shirt that’s blue with white stripes…?”

    “Okay.” Stamets settles his head against the wall, closing his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Wow, I haven’t done this in forever. Let’s see.” He breathes deeply again.

For a few very long moments, absolutely nothing happens other than Stamets’ face is twitching slightly and Hugh is starting to wonder just what on earth is wrong with him that he’s still listening to this guy.

Also, he’s getting seriously dizzy.

Then Stamets’ legs give way and he drops, and Hugh, like an idiot, catches him and carries him over to the couch.

Stamets starts moving again shortly afterwards and sits up pretty much immediately, looking exhausted.

    “Well, there you go. If magic isn’t real and I’m not a witch, please explain what just happened to your shirt.”

Hugh is wearing a green tank top.

Well, fuck.

Holy fuck.

He sits down.

Fuck.

There’s just so much about this that isn’t okay.

    “So now that we covered that - where did you put the mirror?”

    “I threw it out,” Hugh answers weakly.

    “Did it ever touch anything in here? Or did you throw it away immediately.”

    “I did.”

    “Oh, thank Gaia. That could’ve ended so badly. Good on you, Hugh. Are you - um, are you going to faint, or are you going to be okay and I can cleanse your apartment real quick?”

    “You’re a fucking witch.”

    “Um…” Paul at least looks appropriately bashful. “Told you so?”

    “I think I’m going to be sick.”

 

 

 

 

By the time Hugh is done with throwing up his lunch, showered and brushed his teeth, his apartment smells of really tasty vanilla, it’s all cleaned up again, and Paul apparently ordered pizza because he’s just closing the door and has two boxes in his hand.

    “Sit down. I ordered pizza. I also cleansed your space, so you should be perfectly safe from the curse now, and I also tidied up, because… well, I kind of messed all of this up. Also don’t feel bad about getting sick, that happens to everyone the first few times they’re around magic.”

Hugh sits.

    “So. Magic. It’s all real, yes, there’s a secret society of magical people, um… I… I don’t know. Just ask me, or something. I mean I’m not - I’m not really supposed to tell you these things, you know, but… what can I do?”

Hugh eats a slice of pizza.

If Paul doesn’t know what to tell him, that’s great! Because Hugh doesn’t know what to ask, because he wants to ask everything, and because he’s more than just a little terrified, and the questions are jumbling his brain.

So he chews and tries to breathe a little bit, and -

    “Are there magical taxes?” he blurts out.

    “Yep. Of course.”

    “Okay.”

    “That’s what you want to know? Whether there are magical taxes?”

Hugh can’t help but laugh, and suddenly the atmosphere is warm again and he can breathe again.

    “No, sorry, I just… I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment. And by a little I mean a lot.”

    “That’s fine. Take your time.”

    “Um… your mother. She cursed me? I mean okay, I did call the police on you, which is fair, but I thought… I don’t know, I thought a curse is for really bad stuff.”

    “Oh.” Paul grimaces, cheeks starting to flush. “Uh. Great, that’s the one question I didn’t want you to ask. No, it’s fine! I just - um. Okay, so. I’ve got a monumental crush on you, and when you - look, obviously it was you who called the cops because you’re the only, you know, outsider who’s been at my place for quite a while now, and you’re the only one I invited, and my alarms for an Uninvited didn’t go off, so it had to be you, and, um, after dealing with the police I went over to my mom’s place, and… I was a little, um, heartbroken because I thought you maybe liked me or something, and I could try to, you know, run into you again and maybe ask you out or something, especially because, um, you had the LGBTA+ flag as a pin on your jacket, so chances were good you’re gay, or bi, or pan or something, and I got the feeling you’re single, but you called the cops on me so obviously you still thought I was a freak, and I got, um, a little too upset about that whole thing, and a bit too frequently, and… my mom loves me and she means well, but… yeah.”

    “Your mom cursed me because I wouldn’t go on a date with you,” Hugh says flatly.

    “No! No, she… I may not have, uh, explained everything properly to her, and she thinks you were super rude to me and hurt me a lot, and probably also that you broke up with me or something. I don’t know. But… you don’t deserve - I mean, she shouldn’t have cursed you even if that were true, and since it isn’t, and the only thing you did was not, um, ask me out, which is fine, you know, since I might not even be your type or you might not be into guys -”

    “I am into guys,” Hugh interrupts him.

    “Yeah, see, so… just because you’re not interested, for whatever reason, which is fine -”

    “I am interested.”

Paul drops his slice of pizza. It falls perfectly with the toppings down on the floor, making a wet slap.

    “I… take that back, I’m only interested in guys who don’t drop pizza on my floor,” Hugh says, trying and probably failing spectacularly at being any sort of deadpan about it.

Paul flushes a beautiful crimson and immediately picks the slice up and mops at the floor with a paper napkin.

    “Sorry.”

    “You’re a witch, can’t you -?”

    “Hugh, I make potions for a living. I - those kinds of things are not - you know how some people are really bad at maths? Yeah, I’m really bad at… that kind of stuff. You know. Free-form energy. I mean you don’t know, but… yeah. I suck at it. I imbue magic into stuff - liquids, really, um, anything else isn’t, I’m not good at that, and, well, potions are -”

    “Go out with me,” Hugh says.

    “- way easier. What?”

    “Go out with me,” Hugh repeats. “You - you’re super cute when you ramble and you’re hot and you’re smart and I think we got off the wrong foot, and I mean, yeah, you’re a witch, but… you’re also, I like you a lot, basically. And also you really helped me out, so… I think I owe you dinner.”

    “You’re asking me to go out with you.”

    “I also really liked your cat?” Hugh offers.

Paul laughs.

    “Um. Gaia, yeah, I’d… I’d like to go out with you too.”

 

 

 

 

They make out a date, then eat their pizza, and Hugh brings Paul to the door, which is just a few steps, but it gives him an excuse to lean in and kiss him. Paul tastes of pizza and he smells really nice and makes a surprised sound into the kiss and Hugh really likes all of that.

 

 

 

 

Later, Hugh finds a dark purple-blue stone sitting pretty on his dresser.

_It’s Tanzanite, which is your birthstone. My charms aren’t particularly strong, but I hope it’ll help you sleep well.     -Paul_

It does not only that, but it also makes him dream of a certain blue eyed beauty, and Hugh can’t wait for that date.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter got really long skdjlfskdf
> 
> also i just wanna clear up some stuff from the last chapter! paul isn't bad at magic per se - that'd be like saying he's bad at all of it. he isn't! he's just bad at pure energy spells and transfiguration and charms. you know, the same way i was crap at musical education, spanish and maths. *shrugs* he _is_ very good at potions (he's got a master of sciences in that!) and plant magic, and he's decent at sigils.  
>  sorry, i should've made that clearer :D
> 
> also it's really difficult not to turn this into a longer story because i really love this world and all the other stuff i've built for it but uhh i don't have a plot :( sad

“Tell me how your world works,” Hugh says after they’ve sufficiently covered increasingly embarrassing small talk.

Hey, it’s not his fault he gets flustered around cute guys.

Paul giggles, luckily, and smiles. 

“I… I don’t know what to tell you. It works just like yours, I guess. What do you want to know?”

“How… how does your school system work?”

“Really?” Paul plays with the stem of his wine glass. “Okay. We are eligible to go to school from age five, most start when they’re six, you have to stay in school until you’re at least sixteen, you graduate with eighteen after twelve years, there are summer, winter, spring and autumn holidays, all corresponding more or less with the beginning or high points of that season, which are usually also festive times. Summer holidays are the longest. School is usually… uh, I think from eight to three? It’s been a while though. Does that help?”

Hugh tries really hard to rein in his smile.

“No. Not at all. Do you have magic classes and… magic science, and… I don’t know. Magic sports?”

“Well… yeah?”

“So what’s the deal with magic science?”

“Oh, Gaia.” Paul runs a hand through his hair. “I… am probably the absolute worst person to ask about that because it’s really interesting and I read about it a lot and it’s just so fascinating. But… okay, to keep it short - we don’t know where magic comes from, really, um, and what… you know, well, we know what it’s made up of - atoms, which are made up from electrons and neutrons and so forth, and they’re made up from quarks - but we don’t know what, um, how something becomes magic. What changes in an atom when it becomes magic, or imbued with magic. Science is already pretty good at, um, knowing how people are magic, or how they can do magic, there are some pretty solid theories on how that works, with… you know, brainwaves. I’m not - you might be better equipped to understand that, I don’t know anything about brains.”

Paul is clearly super excited, and his eyes are sparkling.

“That’s so awesome.” Hugh can’t help but be excited too. “So - what - why did I get dizzy around magic? You said it was normal, but - why? What happens?” Paul opens his mouth to reply, but Hugh doesn’t manage to stop there. “Also - you keep mentioning a Gaia? Also are there magic animals? Like… are there dragons? _Please_ tell me there are dragons.”

Paul bites his lip and twiddles his fingers.

“There are no dragons. Sorry. At least not the - you’re probably expecting something… big. Like, _The Hobbit_ kind of big. Um. Sorry.” He’s so cute it’s absolutely unreal. “But. If you, um, ever come over to my place again, I’ll show you my terrarium.”

“You - you have a terrarium full of dragons.”

Paul ducks his head and nods.

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. As for the other questions you had - magic makes you dizzy because, to keep it really simple, it charges your every atom. Or changes it. It’s complicated. But… magic doesn’t change who you are, it just… ugh, I don’t know how to explain it, but basically it puts you into another state of being, so to speak. And if you’re not used to it, it gets you dizzy. But, you know, magic kids are around magic from before we’re born, so we don’t get dizzy. It’ll pass. And Gaia is my goddess. Potions and herbal magic are plant based, so. Gaia. Mother Earth. It’s more of a - I do pray, and do some offerings, but mostly it’s the same way you say ’god’ or ’jesus’, it doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Oh my god. You’re telling me there’s witch religion?”

Paul shrugs.

“Yeah? Sure.” He smiles at Hugh. “You know, you’re very cute about all this. So excited. It’s just my normal life. You know, you do exciting things too.”

“I don’t keep dragons in a terrarium. I don’t do magic.”

“You save lives. Isn’t that… magical in itself?”

“Pretty sure you can do that with magic too.”

Paul shakes his head.

“Nope. Can’t. There are some things you can cure, but… when we get sick, we go to a hospital too. Maybe not a human hospital, but the doctors there sometimes go to human med schools, and… there isn’t much magic involved in healing. And - it’s just, it’s very fascinating. Like… you save lives, Hugh. That’s awesome.”

“I work in the ER, Paul. I don’t - I don’t save lives.”

“Sure you do. My mom had, um, I forgot the name, but basically she had cysts on her ovaries a few years ago. Went into the ER with horrible pain, and the doctor said it was late stage, they’d need to operate very soon. The times she went before that, she was given painkillers and sent home. And… I don’t know whether she would’ve died, but that doctor saved her a whole lot of pain. And I mean, that’s the kind of stuff you do too.”

“Oh, god, you make that sound so dramatic.”

Their food arrives then, and Hugh is distracted for a moment, missing Paul’s grin.

“So,” Paul says after they’re both settled. “What made you want to become a doctor?”

Hugh shakes his head.

“Really? That’s the question you’re going to ask? _The_ most basic question? Okay. I… I want to feel like the work I’m doing means something. Like I can make a difference. And I want to work with people, not with computers and numbers and excel sheets, feel important when I got the shading of the header for my power point presentation just right. I don’t mean to drag people who choose that kind of work, I could just never do it myself. Is that a good answer?”

Paul has been watching him with warm eyes, but the moment Hugh actually looks at him, he licks the corner of his mouth and… that’s a little distracting.

“It is, yeah. That’s very noble of you. Or maybe you just don’t like computers.”

“We had an IT class at school and I practically didn’t pass,” Hugh admits. “So. How about you, why did you become a… potioner? Potionologist?”

“Master of Potions,” Paul corrects, twirling tagliatelle onto his fork. “It’s a Master of Science, so. Um, I’m good at it, it’s fun, I always enjoyed working plant magic, and… well, I mean, I enjoy cooking, so…”

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner goes really well, and Hugh can’t sleep afterwards, despite Paul’s stone still sitting on his drawer, because he can’t stop thinking of Paul, Paul laughing, Paul frowning, Paul getting excited about something, Paul’s eyes going big and soulful when he’s listening closely, Paul’s soft little smiles, the way Paul used Hugh’s jacket to tug him close and kiss him rather deeply when they were saying their goodbyes, the soft sound Paul made when Hugh kissed him.

He also can’t stop wondering whether Paul is thinking just as much.

His phone beeps with a new message around three am. It’s from Paul. Hugh can’t help but scramble for it immediately.

What seems to be a picture turns out to be a video of Paul’s face close up (not that Hugh minds that), and then he starts lifting his eyebrows in time with his hand, where he’s holding a strip of… is that raw meat? Oh. _Oh._

There’s a tiny dragon hanging from the meat strip, doing its best to hold on, and it’s wriggling slightly.

Paul winks and the video cuts out. 

He also sent a message immediately after.

_Feeding the beasts ;)_

Hugh calls Paul immediately.

“That’s a _tiny dragon_!” he says by way of greeting.

Paul laughs.

“Yeah, it sure is. You thought I wasn’t serious.”

“I - it’s a fucking dragon, Paul!”

“Yeah, and he and his friends are currently trying to bite me.”

“Are they dangerous? What do you use them for?” Hugh gets into a comfortable sitting position on his bed because if Paul lets him, he’ll be here a long time questioning him about everything.

“They’re about as dangerous as a dragonfly. If a dragonfly could spit fire, that is. But, um, I’m nice to them, so getting their fire is a little difficult.”

“You get their fire.”

“And their spit, and their scales, and their poop, and their egg shells, their organs once they’re dead… yeah.”

“What for?”  
“Potions?”

“Oh.”

“Surprised?”

Hugh scratches his beard and grins to himself.

“You have no idea how cool all of this is.”

“If you come over, I’ll let you pet them.”

“Are you serious?”

“Hugh, I - I’d like to see you again, and if I have to bribe you with dragons, I’m so not above that.”

Hugh’s stomach feels very warm and his heartrate picks up a little.

“You don’t have to bribe me.” He’s also a little breathless. “I’ll happily come on my own.”

“Are you off tomorrow? Because I was going to bake a new recipe, and I might need a tester. And I’m sure the dragons won’t mind the extra pets.”

 

 

 

 

Hugh is pretty sure that he remembers the way to Paul’s place correctly, but he’s still not sure he’s knocking at the right ruined apartment complex.

Paul opens, letting the hot air from the fire spill out.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Door was open, but, um - yeah, uh, come in.”

Hugh kisses him. Paul tastes of berries and -

“Did you drink coffee creamer?”

Paul blushes and ducks his head.

“Maybe. Come in.”

Hugh kind of wants to kiss him again and get more of that taste. Instead, he takes off his shoes and jacket and follows Paul into the kitchen, and, oh, that’s where that awesome smell is coming from.

“So, what are you making?” he asks.

“It’s, uh, vanilla lavender cake with honey and ginger filling. And a touch of magic.”

Paul drops his head and smiles.

“Um. It’s a, a pick-me-up with, you know, calming the recipient down a little, um, making them see life a little brighter. There are also some other ingredients, but, um, all edible ones, of course. Bit of rose, made with waning moon water, that kind of stuff. A sigil here and there. Sit.” He motions towards the chairs at the kitchen island. “Um, yeah, dining table is… out of order at the moment.”

“I can see that. It looks like an arts and crafts store ejaculated all over it. What are you making?”

“Do you want a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“I was going to make some herbal tea. Magic herbal tea, of course. With cinnamon, and some ginger.”

Hugh shrugs.

“Okay. That sounds good. I’ve never put ginger in my tea, but I like it on sushi, so… sure.”

Paul sniggers.

“I can also make fish tea. Some of the selkies I know say I make better fish tea than some actual selkies. No? Okay. Good, because the stuff tastes awful. No offence to any selkies. Okay, so, I’m making - there are - okay, you need to have a basic understanding about how to activate indirect spells. Direct spells would be, say, creating fire in your palm. But indirect spells need to be activated somehow. By burning them, by letting them dissolve into water, by freezing them, that stuff. Potions are just a form of spells. Well… okay, that’s not true, but - basically, some potions have to be activated the same way, and so I’m building little vessels. Also I was in a crafty mood last night.” Paul sets a mug in front of Hugh.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Aaaah, well, I’ve got insomnia, so…” He gives Hugh a sheepish look. “Probably not as much as I should. Also… this whole business doesn’t run itself, you know? And… well, the prettier I package stuff, the better it is for my general image, so.” He turns to get the cake out of the oven. “It’s just that it’s a lot more work than I thought it would be when I started, but I also can’t afford hiring someone to help me, so I’m stuck somewhere in the middle. It’s good, I mean. I enjoy it, and it gives me something to do other than playing video games, so it’s not too bad.”

Paul busies himself with the cake, and it gives Hugh a moment to think about what he just said. It’s weird to wrap his head around how Paul lives in a house with a garden, keeps several pets and bees and has a pretty flatscreen tv and a guest bedroom, and yet he’s still struggling to make ends meet. It actually makes sense he’s working the graveyard shift at that coffee shop, then.

“Can I help you with that?”

Paul turns and looks at him, surprised.

“Uh. I mean. How good are your origami skills?”

“Decent? I can fold a crane pretty well, and also those paper stars that are hollow in the middle.”

Paul’s eyes light up a little. He bites his lips.

“Um. I know you - I know I promised you cake, and you’ll get cake, of course, but… that would actually be amazing.”

“Sure. Just tell me what to do.”

 

 

 

 

Paul clears the table up enough for both of them to sit there and also take the cake and tea with them, then he swears, mutters something under his breath and gets back into the living room.

Hugh takes a sip of his tea and eyes what’s on the table. It’s mostly paper of various colors, some empty tea lights, crayons, half-open packets of glitter, a whole basket with finished paper cranes, some scattered gemstones, scissors and glue, glowsticks and burnt matches.

“Okay,” Paul says from behind. “Sorry, I just had to get some things.”

The ’things’ are several mason jars filled with what looks to be herbs and… dirt, maybe? and a huge leatherbound black and purple book that’s also adorned with a few stones. Paul has it hugged to his chest.

“Ohh, is that a spell book?”

“This,” Paul lets go of it a little. “Is my Grimoire. So, yeah, it’s a spell book, but it’s… okay, here’s the thing. Um. Don’t touch it. Please? A Grimoire is… a collection of spells and knowledge and all that, but it’s… it’s a very private thing. Basically, in here is everything I know. And a lot of spells or potions I designed myself, some private sigils and all that, and… yeah, please just don’t interact with it. I get that you’re curious, but… yeah, not my Grimoire, please.”

“Okay.” Hugh does his best to keep his disappointment out of his voice. “Does it… is it magical?”

Paul drops the book on the table, making it shake, and starts leafing through. Hugh tries to keep his eyes on Paul instead of the book.

“Of course it’s magical. I’m a witch, everything about me is magical.”

“That’s so cool. Do you have a wand too?”

Paul pulls a face.

“Eugh. Yeah, I do have a wand, but… I hate wand magic with a passion, you can’t even imagine it. I have a few wands, actually, because some things require a wand, and… well, my unwillingness to work with them shows, unfortunately. Candles. Um… probably purple. I’m feeling purple. Maybe with some green. Yes, definitely green.”

Hugh watches as Paul putters around and gets candles. He’s so normal about it all. Which of course makes sense if you consider that that’s just his job, and Hugh is similarly nonchalant about applying bandages and prescribing medication, but… Paul’s a _witch_!

So he tests his tea - still too hot - and tries not to look at the Grimoire while Paul puts up candles and mutters incantations.

“You don’t have to sit there all quiet, by the way,” he says while he’s drawing something on the window with a marker. “I’m not praying, I’m just doing magic.”

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, just sealing the room off from potentially bad energies, invoking spirits beneficial to what I want to do, cleansing the space just a little. Not that cleansing is necessary, I cleansed just this morning, but it makes me feel a little better. Plus, you brought your own energies. Not saying that they’re good or bad, but they’re different from my own and could be distracting or interfering. Usually non-magic people’s energies don’t really do that, but I’d rather not chance it. Plus - my Grimoire’s in here, and I like knowing it’s protected.”

“Do you take it with you when you go out?”

Paul laughs and tosses the marker back onto the table.

“Absolutely not. Do you know what this thing weighs? Look, I went to college for five years and I’ve been working this job for four. Half of this is still empty. But… it’s tradition to give your child a Grimoire when they finish school, and my mom knew I wanted to go into Potionmaking, so she didn’t get me a classic Grimoire with a finite amount of pages, but this binder instead. Which was a pretty good idea, and actually made quite a few people in college a little jealous. Because… your Grimoire, you stick with it. More or less forever. And it sucks running out of pages in your first year of college, you know?” He’s a little breathless, but he’s grinning and getting comfortable on his chair. “Okay, so, the space is warded, the candles are lit, I’m all ready to go. So… wait, no, I lied. I need sealing wax. Damnit. I’ll be back.”

 

 

 

 

“Sorry, I’m such a scatterbrain. Okay, where were we? Right. So you said you know how to fold those little stars. So if you could… let me think. Yeah, let’s start with blue.” Paul opens the biggest mason jar and fishes for a little silver spoon. “So, this is a herbal mix, and if you could put like… say, half or quarter of a spoon inside the star, and then… well, no, before that, you write… aw okay.” He clears some more things away by stacking them on top of other things, then pulls his Grimoire over to Hugh. “You’re not supposed to write sigils out outside of their intended place, so I guess I’ll have to let you look. See this one here? Yeah, it goes kind of inside the star, wherever you can fit it. You should probably use… I have a fountain pen here, and ink is better for magic because it’s more conductive to energies. Also try the cake, please.”

So they set to work. It’s surprisingly fun, because even though Paul needs to do a lot of incantations and sealing the little stars, there’s still enough space in between that for them to talk. Occasionally Paul breaks into song for a while. Also his cake tastes absolutely amazing, and Hugh would love to kiss the taste off Paul’s lips, but apparently there’s a ’no kissing while magic is being done’ rule.

“It messes with my ability to focus,” Paul explains. “Magic is based in focus and concentration, which is also why you take meditation classes in college. They’re mandatory. And… kissing gets me too excited. Sorry. We can make out later though. If you want. Aw, fuck.”

The star Paul had been holding shrivels and smokes in his hand.

“See? Lost my concentration because I got too excited about the possibility of kissing you.”

“What happened?”

Paul shrugs.

“Busted magic. It’s… I imbue them with magic, and if I don’t seal them off magically as well, or if I get distracted while doing the sealing, the magic will escape, and magic is just energy, really.” He snatches the next star, but this one even goes so far as to explode with small sparks.

Hugh watches with worry as Paul takes a third one, this time frowning with concentration. The star shrivels and pops open, leaving slightly smoking herbs all over Paul’s workspace, and he sighs.

“I think I jinxed it. Concentration is gone.”

“You’ve been at it for a while. Maybe you just need a break,” Hugh suggests. 

He’s hoping that the break means Paul will make good on the making out.

Paul shakes his head.

“No, I could’ve continued this for a lot longer; this is baby magic, and it’s not that draining. I just -” He flashes a grin at Hugh. “Got distracted by a cute guy.” He pops a piece of cake into his mouth and licks his fingers afterwards, smirking when he sees Hugh’s look. “Wanna blow out the candles and go feed the dragons? And… if you want to… make out afterwards?”

Hugh’s delighted grin is apparently all the answer Paul needs, because he slams the Grimoire closed and hops off his chair to blow out the candles. Then he gets a mixing bowl from a cupboard high up enough for him to have to stretch, revealing some pale white skin.

“Are you okay with feeding them too? Also - would you like gloves or not? It’s raw meat after all.”

Hugh shrugs and comes to see what Paul is doing, which is mainly just dumping packs of meat strips into the bowl.

“As long as I can wash my hands afterwards, I’m good.”

 

 

 

 

Paul leads them out through the front door and then around back to a wooden hut that stands a bit singled out and hidden between trees.

“During the summer I also build up the outside area again, so they can explore and fly more, but during winter it’s just too cold. Oh - by the way, you might want to take off your earstuds. They… they tend to hoard. I usually get a bucket of shiny things every few weeks during the warm months, and then I hide them in the open air enclosure so they have something to do, and during the winter months they get more and more fed up with the stuff they have, so they start throwing it out of their nests. They’re not particularly intelligent, i’m afraid. Bit like sharp chickens.”

Hugh dutifully removes his earrings.

“Would they bite my ears if I kept the studs in?”

“Absolutely.” Paul is grinning, but his voice is serious. “My mom came in here once, and she loves wearing just the most amount of jewellery you can fit onto a person, and… well. Especially seeing how they have sharp teeth, you know.” He tucks the bowl under his arm and opens the door to a small room. “i also put in basically an airlock, because I had some get away a few years ago, and the police’s catcher division is really pricey, and I really, really don’t want to have to pay for their deployment again.”

“Maybe you should padlock this thing,” Hugh suggests, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Nah. Magical padlock is already in operation. Only I can open it, and only I can close it, just with my touch… and some magic, of course.”

Hugh puts weight on his right leg, leaning a little closer to Paul.

“I thought you couldn’t do magic right now,” he murmurs, meeting Paul’s eyes.

As expected, Paul flushes a pretty pink and lowers his eyes.

“There are different kinds of magic. This one just needs energy, not _focussed_ energy.”

Hugh moves a little closer. He’s not entirely sure whether to really move in for the kiss he wants so much, but then Paul takes the lead and kisses him sweetly and Hugh curls his hand into the side of his shirt. There’s also a tiny, tiny hint of tongue, withdrawing immediately after nudging Hugh’s lips, and oh wow, he is so here for that. He pulls Paul a little closer, opening his lips and letting his tongue slip inside Paul’s mouth.

Paul moans.

It’s a small, pretty sound, and Hugh immediately wants to haul him even closer, but Paul presses a hand to his sternum and draws back.

“One sec,” he says.

He sets the bowl with the raw meat down, brushes off his hand, bites his lip and shoots Hugh a look from under his lashes, and then he pulls Hugh in and kisses him.

 

 

 

 

They spend a good few minutes like that, only breaking apart to catch their breaths on occasion. Paul makes the most amazing sounds and Hugh can’t get enough of them. He also pushes his hand into Paul’s hair eventually, and that makes Paul scratch along the back of Hugh’s neck and that in turn makes Hugh shudder in delight.

“Wow,” Paul whispers when they finally draw apart.

Hugh snickers, feeling equally breathless.

“I think it’s safe to say that this was positively… _magical._ ”

Paul stares, then his eyes widen when he gets to joke, and he bursts out laughing, stepping away from Hugh. He stumbles and almost falls over the bowl with meat. Hugh reaches out to steady him, curling his fingers around Paul’s arm.

“Watch out.”

“Don’t stop me from,” Paul winks. “ _Falling for you_.”

Hugh laughs and lets go. “That was horrible.”

“You started it.”

A screeching hiss interrupts Hugh’s response and Paul’s smile turns soft.

“Let’s feed the beasts, yeah?”

“Do I need to fear for my fingers?”

“Nah.” Paul shakes his head. “They’re pretty tame. Make sure you don’t get between them when they’re fighting. I can more or less heal dragonfire wounds, but the scars are ugly.”

 

 

 

 

The dragons are absolutely adorable. Kind of annoying, and acting like they never get fed, but once the initial storm is over and Hugh actually gets a chance to interact with them, they’re the cutest. They’re between one and two hand lengths long, enjoy worming into your palm, love belly tickles, and… yeah, they can fly and breathe fire.

“So are they all the same breed? Because they look incredibly different,” Hugh asks.

“Oh, no, these are about five different breeds. The common ones. And then the one you’re holding there, the big one, he’s a rare one. I don’t need him for many things, but when I do, he’s more than worth his weight in gold.”

“How do you get their fire though? And how do you… keep it?”

Paul thinks on that, and licks his lips. Probably unconsciously, but Hugh can’t help but focus on it anyways.

“When you have bloodwork done, the blood is filled into special containers, right? Same thing, basically. Just with magic. Come on, I wanna show you something.”

 

 

 

 

Paul makes sure to close the door properly, and after they’ve washed their hands they head over to Paul’s garden shed. 

It still gives Hugh the shivers, but maybe Paul will explain all of that.

“Is this the place you found that made you report me?” Paul asks conversationally.

“Yep. Why, do you have other rooms with mason jars filled with teeth?”

Paul ducks his head. “No?”

“That didn’t sound too convincing.”

“I promise I don’t. Um. Okay, so, a few rules about this place too. This is basically my, well, my workspace, so…”

“Don’t touch anything?”

Paul looks at him and bites his lip again and Hugh can’t help but notice how bright his eyes are. “Yeah, that.”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to show me all this,” Hugh replies. 

He kind of wants to pull Paul in for another kiss but Paul is faster, stepping close to Hugh and kisses him.

“Thank you for letting me share my world with you, and for still… you know, still hanging out with me, going out with me.”

“Well.” Hugh feels himself starting to flush. “You’re… you’re very attractive, so… you know.”

Paul giggles. “Thank you? Um.”

“Your workspace.”

“Yeah. Thank you. Um, please don’t touch anything. Some things are toxic, some - most aren’t, but I also just don’t like it when anyone messes with my stuff. Sorry.”

“No, I get it. I’m very honored you do show it to me.”

“I… don’t think I’d have much of a chance with you if I weren’t honest with you, and I like - you know, it’s kind of nice to show someone around. So, come on in.”

It’s still pretty creepy as the last time, but now Hugh can appreciate all the individual touches - the left wall with the wooden shelves that are just absolutely stuffed with mason jars, the one fireplace right in the middle with an assortment of cauldrons, actual cauldrons, of various sizes, and the two more fireplaces towards the other wall; all the utensils on the right wall, more cauldrons; and then an L-shaped desk on the far side of the room that is stacked with books, more mason jars, a ton of paraphernalia that Hugh can’t even begin to describe, and the far wall is also filled with nothing but shelves that in turn are stacked to the ceiling with books and… things.

“So!” Paul begins, stepping into the room and turning around, arms stretched out. “This is the most important room. Next to my bedroom, which is important for sentimental reasons, namely sleeping. Here’s where I make all my potions. And then realize I forgot a fresh ingredient inside and that I have to get back inside and get it. Um… during the summer I sometimes prefer using a Bunsen burner or something similar so it doesn’t get as hot in here, and during the winter I really like the open fire. Um. Feel free to look around.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please leave me a comment if you enjoyed this story so far bc that's what keeps me writing :')


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